The Legends
by Frost
Summary: Only months after the disappearance of the Animorphs, an elite team trained by the Professor rushes to the outskirts of known space to find him, where they learn what true sacrifice means, and how legends are created. Continuing from #54! R&R!
1. Book One: Transmission

[Part One]

(Chapter One)

Commander Brian West woke up as the first few rays of sunlight splashed over his face from the cracks between the blinds in his room. Squinting by the sudden illumination of his unadjusted eyes, he managed to swing his feet from under the covers and was able to get in a sitting position at the side. He rubbed his face with both hands, and almost swore that he could still feel the tiger's paws as apart of his hands.

When he looked down, he realized that his dream had become a reality.

Jumping slightly in surprise, he quickly closed his eyes, controlling his breathing, and bringing a picture of his human form in his mind's eye. He spoke to himself, reminding him of the muscular arms, his average height, the hazel eyes, and his short black hair. While most military outfits would require him to have the normal haircut, once you get to any sort of special operations unit, the dress code was thrown out the window.

Especially since no one is supposed to know of its existence.

They were never given an official codename. To do so would to acknowledge its existence. They were the highest choir of guardian angels.

So they were known as the Seraphims. West smiled when he remembered the name. It took a while to explain to the Andalites and the Hork-Bajir that were apart of the unit what angels were, but once they figured it out, they didn't need to be reminded. They approved of the name as well. 

Aside from the other species working alongside them, men and women comprised of the FBI, the NSA, the CIA, the SEALs were the american branch of the Seraphims. There was also representation from the German GSG-9, the French GIGN, as well as the British SAS, along with each country's respective intelligence division, with most countries from the now-outdated NATO taking prominent roles within this special operations division. After little deliberation, it was decided that the main language would be english, mostly due to the fact that the majority of the Seraphims (the Americans and the British) used it as their primary language, and the rest were already fluent in it. 

The Hork-Bajir could speak broken english at best, while their understanding of it was flawless. An implant in their voice box, however, took care of that particular problem. Using technology that was taken from the now-defunct Yeerk Empire, their voices sounded natural, not the computerized, emotionless tones that came from human devices. 

Brian shook himself awake to the sound of his cell phone ringing at his nightstand. He took a look at the clock. It was eight o'clock on the American East Coast. While he was normally stationed in Quantico, the FBI Training Grounds now set up as the Seraphims' base of operations, he had gone to Hereford to look at some potential recruits that were recommended by his British colleagues. 

As the Field Commander of Operations, he hand-picked his twelve shooters, along with the five support operatives and the squadron of fighters, a mix of both human and Andalite, with Hork-Bajir warriors used as each fighter's security force. He was the head of the main squad for the Seraphims. The Alpha Dogs, they were called jokingly. 

West grabbed the phone and flipped it open, trying hard (but failing miserably) to speak without yawning. "Hello?"

"McCain heah." 

West laughed. The British accent of his Executive Officer, Chris McCain, was easly transferred over the airwaves. _But then again, I still have my South Boston accent, so I guess I shouldn't be talkin'._ Chris was holding down the fort in Quantico while West went to England to look at any possible recruits. 

"Yeah, Chris, what's up?"

"We shall be in Hereford in one minute. I just wanted to wake you up."

Brian was up on his feet in a flash. "When did you leave?"

"We just lifted off, chap."

West shook himself awake. "What's goin' on, Chris? You wouldn't be hitchin' a ride lest it was important."

"Call came down half an hour ago. We're on a search and rescue mission. Received a distress signal. Once we pick you up, we'll brief you."

Brian frowned. "Who're we looking for?"

Pause.

"Who're we lookin' for, Chris?" West demanded.

"It's Jake Berenson, Brian. Him and that Marco, oh, Marco Something. After the distress signal, we received a message from Berenson."

_Professor..._ "Well, fack, Chris, out with it!" Brian yelled excitedly, his accent thickening as he started pulling on the artic camoflague pants that was the only uniform any of the Seraphims wore. "What was it?"

"Bloody hell, West. Have some patience!" Chris snapped lightly. "Just two words. 

"'Cassie', and 'Iskoort.'"

West frowned. "Kind of a strange combination, don't ya think? What is an Iskoort?"

"I had fuhst thought that the bloody comms people bulloxed up the transmission, but I found that wasn't the case. I don't know what an Iskoort is, but we do know who Cassie is."

Brian nodded, slipping on a black T-shirt, and then proceeding to look for his black duffel bag. "Get ahold of the White House."

Chris sighed. "Already tried. They're holding a cabinet meeting."

"Well, that's too facking bad, isn't it?" Brian replied. "Tell them either she can meet us at Dulles or she can see us on the White House's front lawn! I think that'll get their attention."

"Yes, quite," the Brit chuckled. "McCain out. You should probably hear the commotion on ground by now."

Brian listened. Yeah, there was a ruckus going on outside. "Gimme a minute and I'll be out."

"Roger."

Brian shook his head in disbelief. _Professor, what's goin' on? What the hell are you talkin' about?_

_Hopefully, someone can shed some light about this "Iskoort."_


	2. Letting Go

Cassie awoke in her bed to the sound of the phone ringing. She slipped her hand out from the covers and picked up the cordless that she had laid down on the smooth, hardwood floor. "Yeah," she mumbled sleepily.

"Sorry, Cassie," her secretary, Margaret, apologized. "Someone called, asking for you. I told 'im you were in a meeting."

"So?"

Margaret hesitated. "Well, they called back. They aren't taking no for an answer."

Cassie frowned with annoyance. "So? Just ignore them."

"They said to tell you something. Just to spell this out. I-S-K-O-O-R-T."

Cassie's eyes snapped open. "Where are they?"

"They'll be in Dulles in a minute, they said," Margaret answered.

"Okay. Thanks, Margaret. And we never had this conversation. You never spoke to those people."

"I understand."

Cassie hung up, and quietly slid out of bed and to her closet. She pulled off the unflattering gown and got in a T-Shirt and a pair of jeans. She didn't have time for anything else.

She looked over at the lump under the covers that was next to where she slept. It shifted slightly. "Did Mrs. President call?"

Cassie shook her head. "No. Someone else."

"Does this someone have a name, or are you not at liberty to say?"

"Can't tell you, Ronnie," - _because I still don't know what they were_ - "I'm Sorry." Cassie stopped for a moment. "About last night. Was... was it...?"

Ronnie Chambers sat up and rested on his elbows. "Cass, of course it was. And don't even think about that. That's not why I'm here, and you know it. Now go on and do whatever it is you have to do. I'll be here when you get back, I promise."

Cassie nodded slowly and finished changing. Grabbing a jacket, she ran out in the light drizzle and got in her car.

Last night was the final goodbye. She had given up hope. He wasn't coming back, and even if he did, it'd never happen. The Jake she knew would never be back. _But Ronnie was never a replacement for Jake._ He was a man who loved her, and last night, she realized that she loved him back. _Jake is going to be the one who would always remain in my mind as what could have been._

_Cassie Chambers. I could get used to it._

_But you know that Cassie Berenson would sound much better to you,_ her inner voice cut in.

It took a great deal of strength to keep from crying as her BMW raced to Dulles International Airport.


	3. Rendevous

The black canvas duffel bag felt light to Brian, but he knew there had to be over a hundred pounds of equipment inside. One of which was the M-25. A pet project of Colt's, the 7.56mm NATO bullets had a proximity sensor inserted into the tip. When the bullet hit its target, the small marble-sized amount of Semtex explosive would detonate. Theoretically, if shot correctly, the bullet could literally explode inside someone's body cavity.

The Heckler and Koch MP-15 was the basic model of the MP-10 and the MP-5, although on the inside, it was no longer a bullet that had to be hit with a hammer. With the added Andalite technology, magnets propel the bullet at supersonic speeds, giving twice the velocity and literally zero sound. Before, with a silencer, the click of the hammer could still be a dead giveaway. But now, even that possibly dangerous annoyance was eliminated.

Along with the primary arsenal, a pair of Glock Model 45s, using the same technology as the MP-15, was inside. Also, there was the extra equipment that was standard: Kevlar Vest, Deftec No. 5 explosives (flashbangs), Nightvison, Thermal scope, and some gas grenades. The not-so-standard equipment and the final addition to his bag was a new grenade recently released from the Army, after testing it in Delta Force. After months of studying Andalite and Yeerk technology, the grenade emits an electromagnetic charge that's invisible, but has the same effect on electronics as a nuclear warhead. It would effectively shut off any and all electronic weaponry as well, including Yeerk Dracon Beams and Andalite Shredders. The only Andalites that knew of this technology were those that were apart of the Seraphims. 

West ran out on to the new helipad in the center of Hereford (it was moved and rebuilt after the invasion). As predicted, men and women were rushing about, looking at the ship that arrived. Like all Andalite craft, it was smooth, and the twin engines on either side of the bow made the ship look like a Naboo Starfighter from Star Wars, although much larger in proportion. What was more, there were gun ports every yard or so in every direction. The ship was an army of its own accord. But it wasn't the size, the shape, or even the power of the ship that amazed Brian. It was the sound that came from it.

Or lack, thereof.

Brian walked to the ship, brushing past the crowd and walking up the lowered ramp that led to the belly of the ATT (Assault/Troop Transport). At the top of the ramp, McCain, in all of his 6'1", two-fifty pounds, glory. The barrel-chested man saluted, and Brian returned it equally crisply. The Brit's brown eyes shimmered slightly, in awe of the beautiful ship he was in. "We're all heah, Commander," McCain reported. He, like Brian, had strangely brought his voice down to a whisper, as if anything above that would rouse the sleeping giant.

Brian nodded and sat the duffel bag down in the first of twelve overhead compartments that lined the entrance to starboard. The ramp, seemingly on its own, slid back in telescope-style and the door closed and sealed itself, pressure returning to the ship. West yawned and felt his ears pop, equalizing the pressure he felt pressing against his head. 

The airlock that was used as the deployment zone was little more than a boxy room with two metal benches that connected to either side of the wall, along with two doors on opposite sides. One lead to the next portion of the ship; the other lead outside. West walked across the airlock, pretending that the team was there and he was giving them all approving glances. McCain chuckled slightly, but it was a nervous laugh that came from within him. He wasn't sure about this mission, either. 

Walking through the other door, Brian stopped at the sight of four humans, two male, two female, suddenly snapping at attention and saluting in the middle of the wide hallway. Brian realized that while humans could live with a yard-wide walking room, other species may not even be able to stand straight up in such tight confines. The four Seraphims stood outside a pair of voice-activated doors opposite each other. The first of them, a tall and broad german by the name of Gil Hanseckart, dropped his salute, remembering that they were no longer official, and gave West a handshake with his vise-like grip. "Velcome, Commanderre," he greeted, his accent bleeding through.

Brian smiled in return, and held on with his own firm grip. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

The man of Spanish features walked up and had to look up slightly to see Brian's eyes. Despite his looks, his english had a british tone to it, and Brian remembered something from his dossier about Casimiro Martinez getting a communications degree at Oxford. "Everything's going accourding to shedule, Commander," he announced. 

The two women, one short, the other tall, both attractive, but certainly athletic, approached him. The first and the shorter of the two, a brunette, accepted West's proffered hand and gave him a smile that could only be described as genuinely sweet. Michele Nicolette's blue eyes shined with the light of pride, but a pride of knowing that she was in the right place. Her voice, light and calming, had only a trace of French in it. "How are you today, Commandeur?"

Brian sighed tiredly. "Exhausted. My brain's running me to death."

Michele laughed, a sound that overpowered Brian's nervousness and brightened his mood immediately. She moved forward to give him a reassuring hug, but she brought her mouth close to his ear. "When are we going to tell them about us?"

Brian released the hug, although only reluctantly, and laughed. "Don't worry, Michele. We'll get our chance soon enough."

Michele understood the meaning of his statement. _I have no idea if we ever will._ She seemed a little disappointed, but knew that Brian was only looking out for all their best interests. She gave him a wink that only the two of them saw, and went inside to the door on his right. The second woman, a dark-tanned american, who had the aspects of her african blood in her skin, and her european in her face, gave him a knowing smile. Very little got past Katrina Michaelson, and being Michele's roommate, it would be impossible to keep the secret from her. She also went into her room. 

Martinez and Hanseckart seemed content to stay in the hallway and chat a bit with McCain, so Brian quietly retreated from the group and moved on. As he passed Michele's door, he gave it a little tap. The men didn't notice it. He walked to the last pair of doors and turned to the one on his left. There wasn't a doorknob, just a speaker on the wall to the side. "Open," Brian said. It slid open, from right to left, and disappeared into the wall. Brian stepped inside, but held the door open as Michele scurried in and ducked under his arm that kept the door from sliding shut. Once she was in, Brian released his hold on the door and it closed without a sound. 

The room was basic; two beds, a sink with cabinets and a mirror, and a pair of closets on the opposite wall and in front of either bed. Michele took off her light, black suede jacket and tossed it on the left bed. Her shirt underneath was dark blue and made of cotton, but it was a snug fit, and enhanced her natural features, making her look even moreso lithe. Brian surprised her from behind and picked her up in one quick grab, his arms around her waist. She gave an airless scream, a playful one, and slid around in his grip to face him. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her eyes telling the whole story: _You're going to have to work for more._

Brian laughed, nodding. _Okay, we can play that game._

Playfully, he tossed her on the bed, and jumped after her, pinning her arms to the matress and settling his knees on her legs to keep her from kicking. With a triumphant and cocky look, he kissed her on the lips, but it was not for long. Her legs kicked up quickly, managing to lift Brian off her and sending him flying to the floor. He hit the carpet and bounced against the side of the other bed. Brian got up and shook his head in bewilderment. "Damn..."

Michele grinned innocently, like a child that was reminding someone of her dominance. 


	4. Illumination

Dulles International Airport was empty, save the single BMW waiting in the middle of the largest runway. The sun gave off little heat today, although the sky was clear, the exception being the small speck that seemed to be nothing. Cassie knew that it was far from the truth. Within minutes, the speck became a figure, and the figure grew until it became a ship that made a silent landing twenty meters from her car. 

She cautiously stepped out onto the runway and toward the craft, of which its ramp was already set onto the concrete. A single man walked out of it, although she could see one more standing at the entrance. He was American, she could easily tell from the swagger that all, including herself, americans had. "Commandah Brian West," he announced his name. Cassie couldn't place the accent, but she knew there were more pressing matters, so she let the question go unsaid.

"Cassie Brenner," she replied, shaking his hand. After her father had died of a heart attack, she and her mother decided to revert to her mother's maiden name. At times, she still winced when speaking it. This was one of them. 

Commander West didn't seem to notice. He had an air of purpose, of strength, of... _Jake._ Cassie shook away the thought. West was speaking.

"Ms. Brenner, if you will follow me, we can sit down and talk about the situation," he said, guesturing to the ship.

Cassie hesitated. Was this a good idea? She didn't know who these people were. However, this Commander wasn't giving off any vibes. He didn't seem to notice her, at least who she was. That ruled out kidnapping or assassination. Instead of making things hard for him, she simply nodded and followed him into the ship.

They walked through a long hallway and into a lift. She recognized the Yeerk technology from her excursions into the Blade Ship... But that seemed ages ago. Was it really that long? She was barely twenty-one, now. After Jake, with Tobias and Marco, had gone after Ax, she truly felt alone. Rachel's death hit her for a time last year, and depression begun to sink in. Not bad enough to require professional assistance, but it certainly affected her work and, at times, her relationship with Ronnie. Yet Ronnie worked with her, was able to adapt to her needs, and genuinely cared for her. 

_He left me,_ she thought. _He could have taken me, but he left me._

And now Jake was gone, perhaps forever, probing the universe for their friend. And she wasn't able to be there if they found him. 

The next thing she knew, she was already out of the lift and had walked into a medium-sized room. It was made up of three basic parts. The first was a table that seated thirteen, and at each seating was a noteputer (an advanced form of PDA, with more capabilities than the strongest Pentium in the pre-Invasion). The second part was a second table, although this one was a holoprojector. At the moment, it was a digital mapping of the Sol System, centered on Terra, with Mars to the right and Venus to the left. 

The third and final part, in the back of the room, was a smaller holoprojector, but this one was shut off at the moment. She noticed a Z-space transponder (human version, about as large as a dictionary) was connected to it, and realized that it was their comms unit. 

West ordered the two at the table, both Andalites, for some privacy. They were more than happy to oblige. They had only their rooms where they could feed, and they were getting hungry. West motioned to one of the six human seats at the table. She accepted the one closest to the seat at the head of the table and to the right. West, naturally, sat at that head seat. 

"Ms. Brenner," the Commander began, "let me assure you right now that we are working under the UN, and that there is no reason to fear anything from us. We're a special operations team and we keep a tight lid on everything."

"Tight enough to keep the White House in the dark?" Cassie asked. An honest question.

West took it as much. "Of course. How can you blame the Americans if they didn't know we existed? It's taken years to create this outfit. We originally were a creation of NATOs to build a international anti-terrorism unit, back in Y2k. After the Yeerks came and went, NATO had already forgotten about it, but we were partially created, but those that recruited all of us were killed. A few of us went on and finished the job, complete with some new friends. And that's our story."

"You guys have a name?" 

West smirked casually. A "Can't-tell-ya" smirk. "Just think of us as guardian angels. You'll have to join us to find out our real name."

Brenner frowned sarcastically. "Chances are, by next elections, I may need a job."

Both shared a light snickering. West cleared his throat and continued. "I didn't ask you to come here just to tell you that."

Cassie shook her head. "Of course not. Now tell me, what do you know about the Iskoort?"

West shrugged. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

"I'd like to, but I can't."

"Why not?" West asked.

"They don't exist yet."

There was a long pause as the weight of that answer began to sink into the importance of the conversation. Finally, West couldn't take anymore and started up again. "About a year and a half ago, there was a report of a stolen Yeerk ship that was supposedly under Andalite protection. A small outrage came from the humans, and then it died back down because nothing came of the theft. Coincidentally, two very historical figures went missing around then. Perhaps you know them?"

"Three," she whispered.

"Come again?" West frowned.

"Three historical figures."

Commander West understood what she meant after a brief moment of processing. "Ah, the Forgotten. Gotcha. Why didn't you go?"

Cassie shrugged. "Wasn't invited."

West saw that was a non-issue and kept right on along. "We heard nothing from them until about two hours ago."

Brenner's eyes lit up. 'He's back?!' "What? They contacted you?"

West immediately saw it begin and shook his head. "Don't show your enthusiasm just yet, Ms. Brenner. It was a distress signal. Something was going wrong, big time, and there was a follow-up message to the signal. It consisted of two words, and the first one was your name. The second one..." he let it hang in the air.

Cassie nodded and sighed, the excitement gone as quickly as it had come. "Iskoort."

West nodded. "Exactly. Now, the message came from Berenson, we have no doubt about that, but as for the message itself... We're plenty confused. Right now we're tracking its origin, but soon we'll be headed there, and I want to know what he was trying to tell us before we reach him, or at least the source of the signal. We were hoping you could tell us what he was trying to say."

Cassie barely heard the last of what he was saying. She was already searching. Not searching, but finding.

_Rachel was scowling, pissed that their previous battle against the bow-legged monstrosities known as Howlers ended in yet another draw. Marco hadn't spoken for at least ten minutes, a sign that the situation was definitely grim. Ax had already withdrawn from the group, something eating at him. What, Cassie didn't know. Erek was in his natural state, a metallic, dog-like figure. _

_Tobias had gone looking for Jake a while ago. He hadn't come back. No one was quite ready to go looking for them, denying first that Jake was killed, and second that Tobias was gone, as well. They just needed more time. _

_And then, all at once, Ax's four eyes turned to the doorway. There was surprise and excitement in the eyes. Cassie turned. [Prince Jake!] Ax cried._

_Cassie didn't even say a word. She jumped to her feet and sprinted toward Jake, literally jumping into his arms and letting him hold her. In a single, fluid motion, their lips were pressed together, and the pressure of the game set by Crayak and Ellimist was suddenly lifted. Nothing mattered anymore, all Cassie knew was that she was in the arms of the one she loved. _

_"It's about time," Rachel grumbled._

"Jake..." she stumbled over the words. "He was trying, trying to tell me that..."

West was anxious to hear the rest, but understood that it must be hard for her. "Go on, Cassie. It's just you and me."

Cassie took a deep breath, and let it out. She nodded, and just let it out in one, simple, sentence. "Jake was telling me that he loved me."

Commander Brian West whispered to her an obedience to her request to be alone, and walked out so that she could break down in a flood of tears without anyone watching. 


	5. Cultural Diffusion

West stayed a good distance away from the door, but still in the hallway, so that he wouldn't be tempted into eavesdropping. Regardless of whether or not he did, he knew exactly what was going on inside the Briefing Room. 

McCain came into view from the corner of Brian's eye. Chris guestured with a tip of his head to the dor. "What's the story?"

Brian didn't answer; he merely shook his head, but whether it was directed toward himself or Chris, neither of them would know. Chris waved a hand in front of Brian's face. "Hello, Brian. Come on, chap, wake up. What're you thinking?"

Brian looked up, and then turned his head toward Chris. "I have a sinking feeling that the message was the Professor saying his final goodbyes."

Without any further elaboration, Brian quietly walked off to be by himself and wonder if that searching for Jake Berenson was really such a good idea. 

-----

"Keep those damn stalk eyes on your own cards!" the irritated Hork-Bajir snapped at the Andalite opposite his table. Jan Tormak wasn't going to lose. Again. 

Kerell-Thurtorne-Chimlay gave him one of those Andalite eye-smiles that only soured Tormak's mood even moreso, accomplishing its purpose. How many do you want?

Jan's eyes flicked over his hand of five. He tossed down a card with a hand bladed at the wrist. "From the top. I know how you Andalites work."

Kerell made a show of taking the top card and sliding it, face down, across the table. Here you go, although you aren't going to be getting that ace.

"How the hell do you know?"

My, we've gotten a harsh tongue, haven't we?

"Consider it the curse of genetic engineering. Sometimes you take on a few of the traits of your creator."

The two had only recently begun to take up poker, but it was slowly becoming addicting to them. Not in the sense of becoming a full-time gambler, but it was a game that required more than luck. The game wasn't to force a hand. The game was to force a fold. The subtle hints, the flicker of eyes; one could play the game without even needing to see the cards, if they could pick up on all that. 

Jan was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. He knew that he had to give his four-legged opponent a passive stare in order to protect himself from being found out. He shifted in his custom-made seat, and tossed in a hundred dollars. American currency seemed to be the norm, these days. "Raise," he muttered.

Kerell thought for a moment. He hemmed and hawwed, like he wasn't sure whether or not he should go for it. 

Then it hit Jan. _He's got a full house._ He looked down at his own cards. Two aces and two queens. He was hoping that he could get at least one more ace, but the fifth card was a ten of spades, useless. _He knows I've got two pair, but he gave himself up when he said I wasn't getting the aces._

He surveyed his situation, looking for any outs as Kerell put on his show. Finally, Kerell reraised by another hundred, making the pot five hundred and two dollars. 

_Now!_ Jan didn't hesitate and put in all his remaining money in, five hundred dollars. He didn't even breathe. His face, a blank stare. It was like looking into a brick wall. 

Kerell glared at him. Peering into his eyes. Jan only stared back, reverting to the peacefulness of normal Hork-Bajir life. The Andalite looked at his cards, then at Jan, then at the pot, and at his cards again. The people around them in the rec room, from the technical support crew to Katrina Michaelson and Casimiro Martinez, were deathly silent, even moreso than when the two first began. 

Tormak could feel his tail twitch, which he quickly stopped. He waited ten seconds. Long enough to not look anxious. "Well?" he asked.

Kerell shook, his concentration broken. Jan gave himself a mental brownie point. Another five seconds. Jan could have sworn that Kerell's green eyes burned red in that instant as he threw his cards down. Dammit. Take it down.

The small crowd erupted in applause and cheering as Jan pulled in all one thousand and two of his dollars. They both began with a thousand, and as Jan watched Kerell mutter something about having to feed, he knew that he was going to walk away with two dollars more. Breaking even would have been wonderful for him, but he took money from Kerell, albeit a small amount, yet that did not do anything to sour his suddenly boisterous mood. "Have a nice day, Lieutenant!" he called out as the Andalite stalked off, his deadly tail twitching with rage.

Casimiro clapped a hand on Jan's shoulder, although mindful of the blades that stuck out from it. "Bloody good show, Jan. Did you have the ace?"

Jan shrugged innocently. "I'm sorry, Casimiro, I don't remember."

Operations, report to the Briefing Room. Operations, report to the Briefing Room, Jan heard the announcement via thought-speak, something that still never ceased to bother him. He looked at Martinez and Michaelson, who both nodded and waited until Jan had all his money stashed away in a pouch of the belt that he always wore, before walking to see what awaited them in the Briefing Room. 


	6. Contact

Captain Kerell-Thurtorne-Chimlay stood at his place at the table, on the opposite end of West. To his left sat a beaming Jan Tormak, and at his right, Katrina Michaelson. It was strange, but how so long ago it seemed that these two were complete strangers to him, but in the span of half a Terran year, they had become close friends. It was something that once-Prince Kerell had never experienced before - a cross-species bond. 

Despite his bitter loss to Jan, he still felt a kinship to his Hork-Bajir friend. The other three Andalites (all of whom, including himself, were pilots), were likewise mixed in seating-wise with humans and the second Hork-Bajir, Dom Pratell. Kerell laughed to himself as he realized just how subtle Prin-- Commander West promoted a unified front of multiple races and peoples working as one. It was through those subtleties that he created just that, and the Seraphims have never been stronger. 

For months they've trained, until every member, right down to the tech crew, knew how to fight, from piloting a Model 28 Fighter (the most recent fusion of Andalite technology and Human ingenuity), to flying the flagship itself, to using close combat weapons, and to morphing. 

It was no secret that every Seraphim was morph-capable. That was the deal between the Terrans and the Andalites, so that the Andalites may be able to participate in this. Every member of the Seraphims would be given access to the  device, and (surprisingly, to Kerell) they agreed. Kerell got the chance to have an active role in the most elite of fighting forces, and all the Humans were able to morph. A couple, like Commander West and Chris McCain, were already able to morph, from being involved in the clandestine school that Jake Berenson had taught. 

Perhaps that was what bothered Commander West so. From Kerell's previous discussions with him, he knew that Brian liked Berenson immensely. Not as the Great Leader, but as a Great Teacher. Brian said he refused to judge Jake as a leader, because he's never seen him demonstrate his abilities first-hand. Kerell pretty much agreed with his sentiments. 

But now... The Professor was in trouble, possibly even killed, and now the professionals were being sent in. There would be no second chances. If this failed, the Seraphims would not try again. Jake, Marco, Tobias, the Forgotten Animorph, Santorelli, Jeanne Gerard, and Menderash-Postill-Fastill, all of them, would be doomed, if not already.

The gravity of the situation began to bear down on Kerell. He quickly shook himself and listened in on the Commander's announcment.

"Okay, everyone, here's our current status," he started. He looked down at his noteputer and then back up to the group. "We have at most, seven people that need to be rescued. Four of these seven are all of the original Animorphs, including Jake Berenson, himself."

West spoke a little louder to shut the murmurs up as he continued: "Furthermore, we have no idea of the opposition, with the exception of the single intelligence report we received from Prince Caysath-Winwall-Esgarrouth. How he came to know of our existence, we're still looking into, but that's not what's important. The story was that shortly after Prince Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill's ship was destroyed by the Blade Ship, Professor Berenson and company hijacked a Yeerk prototype and went out into Kelbrid space to find the Blade Ship and return Prince Aximili home.

"As far as we know, that attempt has failed. We believe that, from the distress signal and the message that the Professor sent, there are still people alive, but we must also remember that these signals don't always get to us immediately, and we will not be able to immediately respond."

Kerell raised a hand. West pointed to acknowledge him. Commander, do we know what the message meant?

West's eyes glazed over. "It was a personal message, and its contents will not be revealed. Just suffice it to say that it's neither an announcement of them living or dying. Therefore, we will assume that they are alive and we will burn in as fast as we can and we'll be meeting up with the _Michael_ en route. So no one better be trying to shave or whatever right after this meeting."

The team shared a laugh as Chris McCain rubbed his hand over his jaw, probing the tiny scar on his left cheek. 

West stood up straight again to get everyone's attention back on him. "So that's pretty much it for now. We will be opening the flight simulators within the hour, and we will be inspecting each and every contact we make on our way to the Professor's last known location. And one last thing," he paused, waited for everyone to be looking intently toward him. 

"These people gave us the world we have today. I don't plan on flying home empty-handed. If any one of them are still alive, we will get them home. If we have to get ourselves killed to save them, we will get them home. If we have to fight with only our morphs. We. Will. Get. Them. Home. They are the past, present, and future of our world, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let them disappear without a fight. And if the worst has happened, and they aren't alive, then those who are responsible will pay, and they will pay dearly."

The Commander's eyes went blank once again, and he finally just waved his hand at them as he sat down. "That's all. You're dismissed."

Kerell was the last to walk out of the Briefing Room, where he noticed a particularly familiar human, a dark-skinned female, walk up to the zoned out Commander and pulled up a seat next to him. She was whispering, but Kerell could hear her fine. 

"Okay, Commander. I'll come," she said.  

-----

"Steady as she goes, helm," Brian ordered. 

Aye, Commander.

After a long ride in Z-Space, longer than most of the Seraphims had ever been in before, they had finally met up with their capital ship, the 'Michael'. With a length of one thousand, four hundred and five meters and massing one million, nine hundred and thirty thousand tons, there was very little that could stand in her way. 

She was based on a design made by NASA during the Space Race in the sixties to create a ship capable of protecting the moon from any intruders. With the help of the Andalites, and the recent advances in Terra's technology, it was made a reality. Two massive engines made the its underbelly, and the bridge was set in the frontmost part of the ship. She was in its most basic shape a trapezoid prism, with two main wings fore and in the back, a cylinder-shaped air lock, also where the engines connected with the rest of the ship. Aside from her two main Ion Launchers, a new weapon created for the sole purpose of scrambling electronics, she had four missile launchers, all loaded with plasma warheads, and a number of Dracon Beams in every direction. To complete the picture, a point defense system consisting of a number of smaller Shredder Beams protected the ship from any incoming fighters. The PDS was completely automated, and was able to recognize friendly ships and distinguish them from hostiles.

She was beautiful. She was strong. And she was all his. 

Now, in the 'Michael', they had been flying for over four months, and finally they were approaching the origin of the distress signal. Before, Brian would have let Kerell command, with him being the only other one capable of commanding her without any help needed, but being so close to their objective, West wanted to be there when they found what they were looking for. 

The when began to turn into an if. 

Miss Brenner had spent a lot of her time on the bridge as well. Waiting, watching... Brian speculated that she was perhaps looking for her own answers somewhere in the stars. 'Despite aliens existing and there being a universe full of sentient life forms, is there still a God?' he wondered.

He hoped there was. Because he knew that somewhere down the line, he was going to need all the help he could get.

"Commander, we have a sensor track!" the Sensor Officer, Master Chief Porter of the US Navy, cried out.

West was up in a flash. He stood in the center of the four terminals, where two humans and two Andalites were stationed at. Helm, sensors, comms, and most of all, weapons. "Do we have a fix?"

"Bearing oh-two-zero by two-one-four, fifty kilometers out. Looks pretty big."

Brian smiled. Something he didn't seem to do as often as he used to. "How big?"

Porter matched his smile. "Not as big as us, sir. But still big enough."

West took the comment under advisement. "Helm, set a course for oh-two-one by two-one-five. I don't want to go head on with 'em. Launch a scout with double fighter escort."

Oh-two-one by two-one five, aye, sir, the Andalite, Terance-Worterelli-Loureux confirmed. He keyed a button on his console to transfer his thought-speak to carry across the ship. Scout Team Delta, launch.

The sound of smaller engines screaming out of their hangars on the sides of the 'Michael' was easily heard on the quiet bridge. Brian turned to Terance. "Reverse thrust, slow down her velocity to two-point-five."

Two-point-five vel, aye.

The Seraphim Commander watched as three smaller ships, one of them slightly larger than the other two, sped into view and quickly became small spots in the vacuum of space.

-----

Tighten it up, Deuce, Captain Kerell called out to his right wingman, Lieutenant Derek Frost, previously of the United States Air Force.

"Roger that, One."

Talk to me, Mel, he said to his navigator and sensor operator, Melacki-Omitose-Courrun. Mel rode with Kerell on the scout ship, but Kerell was in charge of both helm and weapons.

Melacki took a second to reply, but came back strong. [I'm getting readings off it, but it's not strong enough to identify. We've got to get closer.]

Lt. Drake Fox, the fourth and final member of the Delta Scout Team (Both him and Frost were called the Dumb Fucks, but considering their past experience and flying ability, no one ever used it as an insult), replied back as most American pilots seem to have in their tone: confidence. Sometimes to the point of arrogance. "Going toe-to-toe with a capital ship? I like it."

"You would," Frost shot back playfully.

Shut up, Kerell said almost automatically. It wouldn't work, but he had to make an attempt at acting like a commanding officer. 

"Aye-aye, Captain Anal, sir," Fox responded. 

Kerell ignored him like he did the last five times. He turned his stalk eyes back to his flying partner. Mel, please tell me you've got something. My trigger fingers are getting itchy.

"I'm quiet now," Frost said.

Mel kept his main eyes on the screen, but turned his own stalk eyes to the Captain. The answer to Kerell's question of whether or not Mel was a true jock was answered when he replied without fear, It's the Blade Ship.

"Kick ass," Fox replied with glee. 


	7. First Combat

Identification confirmed, Commander. It's the Blade Ship. They're powered up and heading in our direction.

Brian let that sink into his brain for a few seconds. _This is it. We've found them. They didn't drift from the signal. Do they know that we were coming?_

Do we advance? Captain Kerell inquired. 

West thought, but shook his head. "Negative. Return home ASAP, but maintain a patrol when you do. Helm, launch all available fighters."

Terance turned his stalk eyes toward him. All?

Brian nodded, knowing exactly what he wanted. "All, that includes the two gunships. All fifty of those bastards are gonna be ready in case they want to screw with us. Go to full alert-one."

The Andalite nodded, a guesture that certainly looked human. He hit the blue button for the second time. Alert-One, Alert-One, all fighters: Launch. Launch. All crew, report to your battle stations. Repeat, report to your battle stations.

West turned to his Tactical Officer. "Weapons check."

Kaerlin-Efforene-Apellan, one of the very few female Andalites on board, looked down with all four eyes on her terminal. All systems operational, and the PDS is powering up. Two minutes before full power.

The Commander nodded in affirmation, and looked at his Comms Operator. "Tank, anything?"

Martin "Tank" Breven shook his head. "Nothing, yet-- Wait, we're being hailed. Two-way visual requested."

"Put it on viewscreen," Brian ordered.

-----

"I'm not liking this any bit," Frost mused. 

Kerell didn't feel much better than Deuce. These are one of the few times where I agree with you. But orders are orders. Besides, I'd rather be fighting in my Model 28 than in this jalopy, he said. No offense, Mel.

None taken. I'd rather be in my Gunship, anyway. Kerell could see Mel peering closer to his instruments. 

Something wrong? the Captain asked. 

Mel shook his head confusedly. I'm not sure. I'm getting some strange readings on the Blade Ship...

Like what?

Kind of like... his voice trailed off. Then he looked up, still perplexed. Like... I don't know. It's just giving off a bit more heat than it should be.

-----

The middle-aged human on the viewscreen had his arms folded across his chest and with a bemused, but disturbed, smile on his face. "Who are you and what are you doing in our space?"

West brought himself up to his full height. He glanced back at Cassie for a brief moment, who understood his meaning and stepped out of view. "I am Commander Brian West of the United Nations, Terran district. We have substantial evidence that you have seven of our people in your custody and we request that you allow us to retrieve them."

The man laughed. A Yeerk laugh. "Your species is so humorous. That's why I love this host. I am Efflit-One-Three-One-Eight of the Sulp Niar Pool, and your request is denied."

Brian held up two fingers from behind his back. Kaerlin brought up a request on her terminal. Ion Launchers armed and ready. Silent-lock. Two seconds before we get a firing solution.

"Why are you denying this simple request, if I may ask?" West asked innocently. 

-----

"Oh, shit!" Frost let the curse fly free as he banked on his right wing and narrowly evaded the Dracon Beam fired from one of the four Bug Fighters. 

Dammit all, they used the Blade Ship to mask their signal, but not their heat signature! Mel yelled at himself. 

Kerell wasn't listening; he barrel rolled left and pulled up, breaking his attacker's lock. He heard Mel slam a hand against his station.

They're jamming us! We can't hail the _Michael_!

"One, break right!" Fox called. Kerell did as he was told, and felt the shockwave of an explosion behind him. 

"Got 'im!" Fox exulted. "Captain, get the hell outta here, and get ahold of the Commander! Go! Go! Go!"

Kerell didn't need to be told twice, but still he was reluctant. You boys better not die on me. Going to Max Burn! 

-----

"You humans don't understand the power We now hold. What is it that you want out of life?"

"I want to bring those people home, is what I want," Brian replied harshly. He was through playing nice, and they were getting ready to kick ass any second now.

Efflit 1318 chuckled. "You really are not a deep-thinker, are you? The One will give you all you want and more. The One Who Is Many. The One Who Is _All_. But you must be willing. Are you willing?"

Brian put his right hand behind his back, and ticked off each finger. When he reached one, he curled it into a fist. As he did that, he said, "Perhaps, but now's not the time to negotiate." He cut off the transmission before Efflit could reply as Kaerlin reported the firing of the Ion Launchers. 

Two gigantic spheres of blue, crackling energy flew at supersonic speeds, a tail of the artificial lightning trailing it like a comet. Kaerlin reported the distance to target at fourteen hundred meters. Twelve hundred, one-zero hundred meters. Eight hundred, six hundred...

---- 

Kerell reacted as best he could. He dropped under the pair of charges, both of which just narrowly missed his ship. He could feel the ship's hull rattle and shake, but it held. Mel's eyes brightened. It must have lifted the jamming! Hailing the _Michael_!

Commander, they've launched Bug Fighters. Fox and Frost are taking care of them right now. I'm heading in at Max Burn, be ready to clear me for a landing and a ship change.

West's voice came in loud and clear. "Roger, Delta One. Take the rest of your ten out with you. Sending Gunship Beta to assist."

-----

Fox yanked back on the flightstick and cut his arc in half, finding himself almost right on top of the Bug Fighter. He triggered a snap shot from his Shredder and rolled under and to the right of the detonating ship. "That's three!"

Frost's voice sounded strained. "Don't get too happy, Trey. They've got friends inbound."

Fox leveled out his pull and ruddered left to get a bead on the fourth Bug Fighter trailing Frost. Frost weaved left and right, the Dracon Beams missing by only centimeters. Fox plotted his intercept course, and sent a coursing beam of green energy into the starboard wing of the trailer. The wing snapped off at where it met with the hull, and the Bug Fighter suddenly rolled to port, and continued rolling out into space, with no hope of regaining control. 

"Thanks, Drake," Derek said, relief easily heard in his voice.

"Let's bail before their buddies come, Frosty," Fox called.

"Amen to that, Trey."

-----

"Enhance picture, Sensors," West ordered.

The Blade Ship grew to take up the entire viewscreen. It was still the Blade Ship, no doubt about it, but it was... different. At the top-center of the ship, a deck gun was installed, like a second pair of Dracon Beams, only much larger. However, despite the outward changes and different color scheme, the port side was damaged. A large, crumpled dent with the unmistakable burn marks of Dracon Beams was easily seen. 

The ion charges converged into one massive ball, and at the last second slammed into the nose of the Blade Ship. The charge seemed to melt into the ship, a wave of electrical energy washing through it. It shuddered, and its turn to face the _Michael_ was still being made, but without the minor changes it was making. The nose pointed at the _Michael_, but then kept going. Without control, and in the weightlessness of space, the Blade Ship could neither stop nor slow its turn or speed. 

"Full thrust, but stop at ten kilometers," the Commander directed. "Call in all Alpha Team members. Tell them to be ready at the HTC in ten minutes and prepare to board the Blade Ship."


	8. The Fall of Michael

The hallway to the air lock was so quiet that a pin dropping on the floor would have shattered the silence. And then, at the end of the hall, a door whooshed quietly open, and Commander Brian West walked out into the corridor. The M-25 felt light in his hands, as if he wasn't even holding it at all, and the MP-15 strapped to his back was likewise weightless. The padding in his vest contained an alloy of an Andalite metal known as mechromium and kevlar, yet another new invention by Terran and Andalite scientists. 

He wore all black. Black vest, black BDUs, black gloves, boots, and finally, his helmet. With the same alloy as the vest pad, the helmet was made into a solid alloy and was a custom fit for Brian's head, with a face shield so that while his eyes would be unprotected, he would be able to see. 

The alloy wasn't made to stop a Dracon Beam head on, but at lower settings, it could hold and give him time to escape, or line up a second shot. Any and all conventional weapons would be useless against his body armor, including the brand new rounds that were in his own weapons. His hand trailed down to the shoulder holsters, where his Glock 45s rested against his ribs. He hoped he wouldn't have to come down to use them, but it was comforting that he had them. 

As he passed each door, it opened and its occupants walked out, fully clothed in battle uniform, Hork-Bajir and Andalites included, although the two Hork-Bajir, Jan Tormak and Kap Chunee, had slits in their clothing to accommodate their blades and tails. As for the Andalites, their flanks were wrapped with the kevlar/mechromium material, and their upper bodies had the normal vest protecting them. 

Brian stopped at the round door that marked the beginning of the airlock. He tapped in a six-digit code, and the door opened from the center, reminding Brian of the old James Bond movies. He shook the thought out of his mind and walked through. 'This isn't a movie. I can get killed here, and I won't be getting to go to a warm bed with a warm body...'

His thoughts drifted off to Michele, who was really only two people behind him. _Then again..._

The airlock was simple: At the ceiling, there was a single pair of bay doors that opened from the middle. To the walls, were racks of Hazardous Environment Suits. A team of techs were already waiting for the Alphas to arrive, as they needed help putting the HESes on. Looking like a body without a head, the black suits were almost invisible in space. The HES was not only a mere Zero-G shell to allow one to float through space without dying in the vacuum, but it also had a thick two-inch plating of armor, although the ankle, knee, shoulder, elbow and wrists joints had to be void of such armor to keep its wearer mobile. The headpiece would be screwed and sealed on, basically the helmet that Brian was wearing, but a little more complete to accomodate the hazardous setting. 

It took five minutes for the team to be suited up, but after the double-check, it ended up being ten after a leak was found on one of the Andalites' suits. Their suits, also a basic body casts with accomodating joints, were much, much harder to get on than for humans or Hork-Bajir, although it would sometimes get tricky for the Hork-Bajir to fit all their natural weaponry in their customized suits. 

West turned and looked at the other eleven, who stood waiting for his orders. "All tech crew, return to your stations. Seal off the airlock once you leave."

The crew nodded and saluted West, who returned it, as they left. When the circular door closed, the familiar hiss told him that they did exactly as he had ordered. "Captain Kerell, are you on board?"

The image of Kerell popped up in the Heads-Up Display of his suit. Aye, Commander. Captain now has the conn.

West looked back to Cassie, who was standing right beside him, only the Glock 45 on her person. She wasn't too big on weapons, Brian already knew, and to take the Glock was a huge step for her. _That's why I'm going to hang on to that MP-15._

"Okay, Captain. She's all yours. Open the bay doors."

Opening bay doors, aye.

The light of hundreds of billions of different stars seeped into the darkened airlock. Brian switched off his night vision as the illumination came to be too much for his eyes. As the doors opened, his eyes pointed to the icon of a pair of boots on his HUD and blinked. The icon blinked twice in return, and a computerized voice said, "Gravity Boots deactivated."

He could feel his feet begin to lift from the metallic floor, and he blinked at the rocket icon. "Thrust stabilizers, activated."

Brian blinked at the RADIO dropdown menu and then at Cassie's name. "Cassie."

She seemed startled, but then regained composure at seeing the Commander and recognizing him. "Commander?"

He told her how to use the HUD, but she seemed to have already figured it all out. "As for the thrust stabilizers, point your head where you want to go and blink twice to set your direction. After that you can move your head around and you won't be swerving around. Blink thrice to speed up, once to slow. Got it?"

"Yeah, I think."

Brian sighed to calm his nerves, and then opened the channel for the entire team. "Okay, Alpha team, we know what to do, so let's go out and do it!"

He lifted his head, the light shining over his face as his thrusters pushed him out into space. Brian looked all around him as his suit drove him toward the looming Blade ship about a hundred meters away. By now, the _Michael_ had driven right up alongside it so that Brian and his team could move in and take the fight up close and personal. He looked back, and counted about six to eight were out--

The brilliant beam looked looked like a simple laser from where Brian was, but he knew that it had to be at least five meters in diameter. It blasted against the side of the _Michael_, sending a rain of armor flying in all directions, peppering his team with metal shards. Suddenly, instead of blowing in, an explosion from within blew out from the massive ten meter hole in the side of the _Michael_. Unsuited tech crew flew out of the hole and out past the Blade Ship, way beyond all help. 

Brian knew what had happened before the report even came. Their weapons are online! Losing cabin pressure fast!

-----

Derek Frost sprinted out of his room, still fully dressed in his flight suit. He glanced back behind him, and saw Fox wasn't far behind. The port side hangar was now just a charred ruin, but the starboard one was still unscaythed. 

A crowd of techs, pilots, and miscellanious bodies clamored around the hangar, an out-and-out panic erupting in the worst of places. A second tremor shook throughout the _Michael_, sending a good portion of the panicked mob tumbling to the floor. The Dumb Fucks took the opportunity to rush across the hangar, stepping over, around, and at times, on people to get to their ships--

--which were gone. "Some goddamn dumbass took 'em!" Frost drew his sidearm and fired into the air, not to get everyone's attention or to kill anyone, but just because he was pissed off and needed to vent quickly.

Fox, however, found a better idea. He ran up the ramp into the HTC, with Frost in tow. With the automatic ease of a pilot, he found his way to the cockpit and pulled his own pistol, pressing it against the neck of an obvious civilian preparing to launch in a craft that he didn't have the slightest idea of how to pilot.

"Where do you think you're going?" Fox said casually. He looked to Frost. "Take care of him."

Knowing that he was still angry, he watched approvingly as Frost brought the butt end of his Glock down on the head of the civvy. Drake looked impressed. "You didn't kill 'im. Good job."

Frost glowered at him, and opened his mouth to reply, but another quake told him that it wasn't the time to talk, but time to go. "Let's launch this bitch."

A click on the speakers got their attention. "Hey, boys, got any room for two more?"

----

All fighters launch! Launch, dammit, launch! Kerell yelled, using the amplifier to send his thought-speak throughout the ship. With Porter and Terance dead, Kaerlin seriously injured, and Tank not even in view, he had to run across to each terminal and do the jobs of four different people. 

A tight-gripping hand fell on his shoulder. He whirrled his stalk eyes around, but kept working at the helm control, hoping beyond hope that something would work and he could get some power restored. Pressure: 45%... 44%... 

"We have to leave, Cap," Tank told him softly. A nasty laceration ran down the side of his face, starting just above the middle of the left eyebrow and ending at the beginning of his jaw. "I got an HTC waiting for us, and we've got about five minutes if they don't fire again."

No, I'm not going to let her die on me! Prince West trusted me with this command! Kerell didn't notice his slip on the Commander's rank.

Tank grabbed him by both shoulders, and with amazing strength, pulled the four-hooved Andalite away from the terminal. "She's gone, Cap! The Commander saw what happen; there was nothing you can do. Getting yourself killed ain't gonna fix a damn thing! Now move it!"

It was only by Tank's strength did Kerell get off the bridge.

----- 

Brian barely had enough time to stabilize himself before he had to head at full speed and catch Cassie before she tumbled out into space. McCain followed suit, and helped him get her oriented and ready to go. 

West looked back at what remained of his team. _Where is she?!_ He looked down at the menu and accessed Michele's suit. "Michele, talk to me," he said, his voice quivering with anxiety.

His heart relaxed when he saw her face. "I'm still here, Brian. Now get ahold of yourself. You've got a job to do."

Brian took a deep breath and turned back to the Blade Ship. He opened the channel. "Okay, Alpha, report in."

Cassie, McCain, Hanseckart, Michaelson, Michele, and Tormak replied. Brian waited for more. None came. _Kerell was on the _Michael_. That leaves five of us._

He brought the menu and looked at the list. The adrenaline was clouding his mind; he couldn't remember the names of the missing. It was on the tip of his brain, but he just couldn't access it. 

_Martinez. Pratell. Poelle. Thurntere. Car-_

"Carbron-Leroux-Postill reporting in," the third Andalite reported finally.

Brian acknowledged his report, but his eyes and brain were still focusing on the four names of the dead. _Gone before we could even start. They're not coming back-_

McCain's face appeared on the HUD. "Dammit, West, don't do this shit now! Keep it together!"

The Commander shook his head, woke himself up. "Roger that, Chris." To the group at large, he guestured with a blazing of his thrusters and said, "Let's keep going, Alpha. Now they've got even more crimes that they'll have to be paid for in full."

-----

"Dammit, where the hell is he?!" Frost growled. 

Fox pulled the restraining straps from above his head and snapped it in place with the pentagonal connector. Two more straps, one from the lower left and the other from the lower right, completed the safety belt. Frost was doing the same, but taking his sweet time, pausing every so often to curse at no one.

The clamoring of booted feet and hooves announced their passengers' arrival. The whirring sound of the ramp and the hissing sound of the cabin pressuring itself told the pilots that it was time to go. "Strap yourselves in, guys! We're going out at full speed!"

The on-board intercom system clicked on. "Roger that," Tank replied. 

Frost, to the right and working the weapons/sensors control, looked around the hangar. "None of the damn bay doors are opening!"

Fox looked all around the hangar. It was mostly emptied, now. Those that were still there were fighting each other. They only had minutes left to live, and they were fighting. He gave his co-pilot an angry look. "Then make one!"

Derek trained three of the five Shredders on the closest bay door and hit the trigger. The Shredders hit the metal and gallons of molten armor dripped in a flood to the floor. More and more followed, until --

In a whoosh of air, the tiny puncture in the metal blew into one twice as big as the HTC. Fox hit the ship's throttle, and as the _Michael_ slowly detonated, one compartment at a time, the last few Seraphims alive evacuated from their flagship and prayed that they weren't the only ones. 


	9. First Encounter

The HTC was slow. 

It was the first flaw Drake Fox noticed about his new ship. A flaw that he did not like one bit. The one thing that he wanted so badly to do was to charge the Blade Ship at full speed and strafe its hull until it was reduced to rubble. While even in a Model 28 Fighter it would be next to impossible, in an HTC, it was suicide. 

But the ship compensated for its lack of speed by having extra firepower and its own personal PDS. Bug Fighters would be hard pressed to cause any damage. 

The blip on Frost's radar told Fox that he was about to test his theory. Derek tapped the radar. "Um... Fox? We got incoming."

Fox didn't turn to look at Frost; he was too busy turning to continue his safe orbit around the Blade Ship. "Where?"

The red laser that clipped off a few centimeters of the HTC's nose answered for Frost. A violent quake shook Drake in his seat, bouncing him against his restraining belt, but he was more focused on rolling the ship on its portside wing and banking away from the second flight of four Bug Fighters that flew past after their first strafing run. 

"Switching on the PDS! Frost, go manual!"  

-----

Commander Brian West felt alone, being in the front of the single file line floating at a direct course to the hull of the Blade Ship. The single hatch on the massive bulkhead was their only course of action, and West knew that there had to be guards there, waiting, watching for them. 

It was not going to be an easy way in. 

Out in space, Brian couldn't hear the explosion, but he could see the blinding light and feel the shockwave. The Bug Fighter, about a hundred meters out, seemed to implode, and then with twice as much force, sent itself scattering. 

The starboard wing of the destroyed fighter flew like a boomerang toward the remnants of the Alpha Team. Brian watched with horror as the wing crashed in, and then through, the fifth man in line. Hanseckart's scream pierced through the main channel and was like a siren, until the worst happened.

His shriek was cut off, and silence filled the void. 

The wing was long gone, and all that was left of the German was a few drops of blood that separated and became perfect spheres in the vacuum. West turned away. He keyed up the last few Seraphims that were in the back of line and pressed them onward. "We've got work to do," he muttered. 

Cassie was sobbing. McCain was silent. The rest, likewise quiet. Brian wasn't going to focus on that. They weren't going to stop now. They can't go back. He hit the stabilizing thrusters and planted his feet on the hull, a couple of meters away from the six-by-four foot hatch. In the matter of seconds, he had turned sideways and still felt like he was right-side-up. Space never seemed to have any logic to it. 

_Neither does death._

Brian shook away the thought and waited until the remaining six likewise landed and activated their gravity boots. _Don't stop. Find Berenson._  The massive vibrations of three Bug Fighters zooming meters away from them, firing at an unseen enemy (or ally, in Brian's mind), made his words sound broken, and he was asked to repeat it. "Hatch?"

Out of McCain's built-in pack on his HES, Chris took out a handheld keypad with an adhesive stuck to it. Brian took it and pulled the plastic off the adhesive and slapped the device on the hatch, wriggling it to make sure it was secure. He punched in six-digits, and felt the air slowly begin to seep out from under the rubber-like material that kept the room pressurized. Slowly, deliberately, and with the help of McCain, Brian opened the hatch. 

"Fire in the hole!" Michele tossed a flashbang in the hatch. Brian closed his eyes and turned away from the opening until he saw the briefest of flashes that managed to get through the shading of his eyes. 

West was the first to float in. The room was quite large, with a good-sized glass desk to his left, a terminal sitting on the desk, a few stacks of papers along with it. Some of the papers were floating away from the stack, with the lack of gravity in the room. A long sofa, at the wall behind the desk, began to shift from the floor, as well. To his right, a wet bar with a few known alcohols, and some definitely foreign drinks, was starting to move around and glasses broke without a sound.

The door across the room and straight ahead of him opened to the side. The thing that walked through was a sight that Brian couldn't shake away.

It was humanoid, without a doubt. Its skin was hardened, like a soft rock, and its coloration was also abnormal, with a cold, greyish-blue that would slowly become a pure red on the edges of its body. On the back of its head was a cord that actually seemed to be connected to the skull and the brain and was hooked to something inside its lower back. Its eyes were red, its pupils were like a cat's, only horizontal.

But it was the claws that Brian noticed.

At the wrist, the skin began to harden even more until it was almost like a mixture of bone, skin, and metal. The claws, arranged in fives, like a human hand, were like a triangular prism, but tapered at the end, and curving slightly down, like katanas.

The katanas, in this case, were a foot and a half long. 

Not even attempting to see if it was a friend or foe (as West knew it sure as hell wasn't a friend), Brian raised his M-25 and shot from the hip, aiming into the chizeled chest of the hybrid. The three round burst drove into the abdomen of the creature, and then exploded as it half-way penetrated through its body. The thing shrieked, an animalistic cry that sounded like a Velociraptor from Jurassic Park. A piece of its lower body was missing, three craters that were about three inches in depth and two inches in diameter spouted blood. The hybrid didn't seem to mind the open wounds as it charged West, claws coiled back to strike.

Brian rolled to the left and pushed off the floor, the swipe of the claws narrowly missing him. He flew across the room and over the desk as he twisted in the air (or lack, thereof) and unloaded on the freak of nature. The enhanced NATO bullets pounded into its head, the subsequent explosions effectively decapitating it and finally rendering it incapacitated.

West grunted as his flight ended in an ungraceful collision with the wall. "Ow! Dammit."

McCain flew down the hatch, his gun at the ready. Michele and Jan Tormak followed, quickly separating to create a semi-circle with McCain to give them all intersecting fields of fire. Michaelson dropped down, along with Carbron, to complete the half-circle. Cassie flew down slowly, and remained inside their protective umbrella.

As quickly as it was created, Chris broke the circle and rushed to check on West, who floated crumpled against the wall. "Commander, are you all right?"

Brian looked at Chris' manifestation on his HUD. He grinned, feeling the sting of his little mishap. "Yeah, don't worry, the wall broke my fall."

"Oh, shit!" Michele looked down at the headless, bloody beast. Its body was a ragged shell of its previous horrific form.

"Yeah. That was my first reaction, too," Brian replied as he corrected his direction and helped Carbron and Michaelson close the hatch. 

The suctioning sound, followed by the subsequent return of gravity throughout the ship, let them know that the section of the Blade Ship they were currently occupying had its atmosphere back. West accessed the main channel. "Keep your suits on. We may be able to breathe without it, but we're going to need the HUD."

He got six replies of acknowledgement. Brian had a sinking feeling that it would not last for long. 

"And that," a voice in the back of his mind told him, "is the life of a Commander."

_I understand, Professor. I get it, now._

-----

Tank felt strange being in the bubble turret on the underside of the HTC. It was like he was in an old World War II bomber, and being unable to see the rest of the ship from his position, it was like he was all alone, floating in the void. 

That was until the ship started moving like a fighter, and his feeling of being alone turned into a feeling of nausea.

Weaving left and right, rolling and banking, Tank had a hard time getting a bead on the three Bug Fighters on their tail, flying in a V-Formation. The Fighters finally kicked in their thrusters, and as two of them flew on past the HTC, he hit the triggers on his turret. 

The three-barreled turret, two Shredders and an ion cannon, let loose with a rapid pulsing fire, pounding into one of the fighters. The ion charges shut down the ship's shields, and the Shredders lanced into the top of the Bug Fighter's hull. He switched the pulsing to a stream from the Shredders, being mindful of the heat indicator that was prominently displayed on his HUD. The Fighter sped out of view as scales of armor were being shed from it and internal components being melted from the super-heated beams, but Tank felt the tremor of an explosion, followed by the HTC passing a cloud of fire and shrapnel, telling him that they now only had two to take care of. 

The Blade Ship came into full view as Tank could see the last two members of the commandos entering via the hatch and closing it as they did so. He tossed them a whole-hearted salute and moved around in his turret to see what else he could shoot.


	10. Second Encounter

Brian took a quick look at who was still with him; he didn't even make an attempt to casually glance at the names of the dead. Despite knowing there was nothing he could have done about it, the fact remained that they had been under his command, and therefore his responsibility. "Chris."

The Brit's voice came back strong, despite the stinking quasi-human corpse at his feet. "Yes?"

"Think you can find us a map of thise place?"

Chris' face disappeared from the window on Brian's HUD for a moment. There was a scrolling of numbers, and then Chris returned. "Negative. It is quite secure."

Commander West frowned. He checked his M-25, and reloaded. He opened the frequency. "We still may have secrecy on our side--"

The door opened, revealing a T-intersection; no one was at the intersection. A calm, male voice, with a hint of the old-age computerized speech, spoke through the speakers in the walls. 

**It is pointless to fight. You are grossly outnumbered.**

"So much for secrecy," Katrina muttered. She switched out her M-25 for the MP-15; it was obvious she still agreed with the Commander.

Brian's mind worked at a speed he had never thought possible. He navigated through the HUD to activate thought-speak. While morphed organisms and Andalites are capable of this form of communication, it was impossible for humans on their own. The suits are able to pick up humans' and Hork-Bajir's attempts on thought-speak, and then transferring that data over the frequency. Anyone who is wearing the suits and are connected to the frequency will pick up the thought-speak, as it is posted in lettering on the HUD.

Still have to try. Everyone strap away the M-25s. We'll use them later, Brian ordered. He looked at the list of the living. Okay, pair up. McCain and I are heading straight. Tormak, Carbron, you're outbound to the right. Nicolette, Michaelson, and Brenner, you got left. Cass, you're never any farther away than two feet from either of them.

He received a number of acknowledgements, and then silently looked out the open door, taking in the sights. The floor was a black metal, seemingly an alloy of aluminum and titanium (or so the readings on his HUD says), and the sides, along with the ceiling, were black marble. A white band would travel a block at two-second intervals, giving him an eerie feeling. The corridor leading straight ended in a double-door, while the hallways on either side led to a number of other smaller doors. He looked back to McCain, to make sure he was ready as well, and started forward, his MP-15 at the ready. 

-----

The HTC was slow.

"Break left!" Derek was screaming at Drake. 

"I have been for the last--" Fox stopped in mid-sentence as a blast sent a tremor throughout the HTC, "--five seconds! Now gimme a status!"

Derek looked at his instruments. "Shields at Seventy-six percent! Engines still full!"

Drake looked back at his passengers. "Are y'all strapped in?"

Kerell shook his head. I am an Andalite. I have no need to strap in.

Fox gave him a smug grin. "Don't say I didn't warn ya... Frosty, full throttle, switch to full reverse on my mark!"

Derek did as he was told; the two pilots quickly were pressed into their seats, even piloting a giant such as this. The pair of Bug Fighters, seemingly grateful that the HTC decided to level out, began to line up a good, solid shot.

Frost looked at an indicator. "They'll have a clean lock in two seconds..." he looked to Fox, his hand on the throttle lever. 

Fox felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face. "Ready..."

"One second...!"

"Mark!"

Frost pulled back on the lever as quickly as he could. The sudden change in momentum lurched everyone forward in their seats, even knocking Captain Kerell over. Fox ruddered left as the HTC was changing directions, making a one-eighty degree turn, finishing the turn aimed directly at the two Bug Fighters and moving backwards from them.

"Tank! Fire!"

The two Shredders lashed out at the left Fighter, vaporizing the left wing, and pummeling its hull with fire. The ion cannon merely increased the Shredders' effectiveness, and the Bug Fighter disentegrated into metal shards. The cannon quickly snapped off a second shot, but Fox was already turning away. Even so, one of the two Shredders drove its beam right into the Bug Fighter's nose and cockpit, probably burning up the pilots and crew in the blink of an eye. The Fighter continued on its straightaway path, probably out into eternity.

Fox shivered. He'd rather have his ship be destroyed with him. "Scratch two bandits," he said in monotone.

-----


	11. Entity

Brian was in complete awe of the grand hall. This was not the original Blade Ship - there was no way that a Yeerk would make something so grandiose. Then again, Yeerks were never known for their humility. It was conceivable that one would make a massive room such as this so that all who walked in would be feeling what West was feeling at this particular moment. 

The hall was a perfect cube - thirty by thirty by thirty meters. At the middle of each wall was a door, and it looked like it was no more than just a giant cube connecting four other rooms together. The walls themselves were chrome, almost mirror-like. Brian half-expected to see someone walking behind him and McCain in the walls, in accordance with stereotypical B-Rated horror flicks.

As the door behind them closed smoothly shut, Brian could already feel something was amiss. The architecture, or something along those lines wasn't right. This wasn't... _Yeerk_. On a ship, luxuries were very little, with the exception of the overseeing Visser. Somehow it just didn't feel right to Brian.

The pair slowly stepped to the center of the cube. "Feels odd in here," Brian muttered over his and Chris' private channel. He had ordered everyone to close their channels to just those they were grouped with. If help was needed, the main frequency was still open.

"Mmm. Quite." Apparently Chris had the same feeling. "There's no lighting."

Brian surveyed his surroundings. McCain was right. There was no source of light, yet he and Chris could see just as well as if he were standing in Quantico in the middle of the day. "You're right. Something's up. Keep your eyes open."

**You are mine, now.**

The non-existant light source shut out.

*****

Katrina shivered. For whatever reason, the entity's speech seemed muffled, as if the statement were made from a distance. It was obvious that it wasn't meant for her, and thus was directed toward another group.

Michele likewise shuddered; despite having undergone training to take on races of many forms (through the help of Andalites whose variety of morphs collected over the years gave them many possible scenarios to work over), this was different. That hybrid of human and... creature - it wasn't something that anyone, no matter how rigidly trained, could handle without any sort of breakdown. 

However, for the two remaining women in Seraphim, a gentle quaking was all they allowed themselves. Regardless of how miniscule the reaction was, it allowed them to release a portion of the tension, something that very rarely did they ever have time to do. The world's future was unknown, with the losses of Earth's legends. A familiar thought popped back into Michele's mind, something Brian had drilled into everyone's mind since Day 1 of his command - _They didn't have legends when they took on an entire species, to defend an entire planet. We're only preserving the peace._

The hallways were made of a dark marble-esque material - probably taken from some species they conquered long ago. It seemed to stretch for miles, but Katrina realized that it just curved off to the right, giving the illusion of a neverending road. The light fixtures overhead, however, seemed old. They resembled very closely to the flourescent lightbulbs that her small encampment in Iraq had during her time as a Green Beret. The doors on either side were much like that of the ones that were on the _Michael_, but with added security. Katrina patted the side of her M-25; she had all the keys she would need.

Michaelson shivered again; something was wrong. The air, still. The only motion, or sound, was originating from either Katrina or Michele. As if the entity, this One, had powers that the mythical Ellimist had. It didn't feel quite right. 

That's when the door directly to her right exploded.

*****

The HTC -- 

"--is a goddamn piece of shit!" Frost cried from below. Fox ignored him; he was too busy keeping an eye on the radar.

The civvie Frost had thankfully clocked was conscious. Coherence was still somewhat not there - Frost packed quite a punch for a fighter jock - but no one seemed to pay him any mind. He was a younger man, probably an Ensign, that had delusions of grandeur when the _Michael_ was first attacked. At least, that was Kerell's presumptions of him. Giving humans the benefit of the doubt was never the Andalite's strong suit. 

And, down in the cramped Engineering section of the HTC, patience was never Derek's strong suit. "Graaaaah!" Metal landing on metal, followed by the hiss of steam. Something broke.

Fox sighed. He looked back to Tank. "Mr. Breven, would you please assist our agitated comrade?"

Tank nodded, looking likewise haggard. It had been two hours since the destruction of the _Michael_, and the HTC was literally coming apart, piece by piece. Distress signals were being sent a regular intervals, but even with the advanced technology that came post-Invasion, it would be weeks before anyone heard it, and more weeks before anyone could get back. Regardless of those setbacks, what was worse about their current situation was that their communications system was damaged; they didn't even know if their signal was even being sent to Earth.

Fox had considered taking off, but that would mean leaving the people inside the Blade Ship which was not an option, in anyone's mind.

But... something wasn't right. He had rigged the radar so that it would track the HEVs of the surviving Alpha Dogs, but only minutes ago, all disappeared simultaneously, and never reappeared. Fox knew it had to have been a result of Frost's fooling around, but the calmer of the two Dumb Fucks wondered if it was something more. It didn't make any sense, though.

Kerell appeared back in the small turbolift. The HTC, as small as it seemed, felt somehow larger on the inside. The living quarters were small, but capable of holding up to ten people at one time. As everyone had agreed to sleep in shifts, the quarters were actually comfortable. The Andalite, however, seemed to have other things on his mind. Lieutenant Fox.

Drake served around in his command chair. "Yeah?"

For once, Kerell didn't seem to think much of Fox's lack of formality. I believe I found the ship's arsenal.

"How big?"

Kerell shrugged. Yet another human guesture picked up by the centaur-esque species. I haven't completely checked it over, but there is quite a bit of ammunition in there. Enough to equip everyone twice over. M-25s, flashbangs, various explosives, various ammunition. Some Shredders.

Fox nodded. "You have something in mind?"

The Captain shook his head. Not at this time, but it's nice to know we have more options available to us.

"Shit!"

Both Kerell and Fox rolled their eyes. You'd better check it out. Tank alone can't keep Frost from breaking things.

*****

The recreation center was completely sealed off. Tormak and Carbron, with Cassie trailing, were stuck inside the deck, particularly the Yeek Pool. How that was considered recreation, only the Yeerks know, and there weren't any in the Pool to ask. 

So far, the Blade Ship was more empty than Cassie had ever seen it to be. 

The Pool was about twenty five meters long, thirty meters wide, with a height of perhaps five meters. The Pool was really a number of spa-sized tanks, twenty-five to be exact, all hooked up to an unseen source of Kadrona rays. Upon lifting the cover of each one, they found not a single Yeerk inside. 

And then the lights exploded from above.

Immediately, Tormak and Carbron switched on their HEV's night-vision feature, with the Andalite accessing Cassie's and doing it for her. Brenner seemed only marginally spooked by the incident. Both of the non-humans knew that she had seen things that they could only imagine, and very little of it was pleasant. Tormak quietly pumped an incendiary shell into his Mossberg M990, and slowly moved down between a row of tanks. He motioned for Carbron to check the back entrance, the only other way in or out aside from the door the Hork-Bajir went to check. Cassie noticed both people taking out a small, handheld contraption and placing it against the hinges of their respective doors, which glowed for a moment, and then sizzled back to normalcy.

They returned to the relative protection of the tanks, weapons in hand, Tormak his Mossberg, Carbron his Barrett M84A7 rifle. Cassie held on to her Glock, which felt very awkward in her hands. Her weapon of choice was her body, or whatever body she happened to be using at the time, perferrably wolf, and projectile weapons didn't seem to have the same capacity as a wolf's fangs.

And then she remembered what Commander West did to the first enemy they encountered.

"Now we're completely sealed in," Tormak replied, with only a hint of relaxation. The tension was only building in his voice.

"What did those things do to the door?" Cassie asked.

Carbron held up the small, Shredder-like instrument. It literally melts the hinge of the door. The doors are now like walls.

"How do we get out?"

Tormak brought up a command on his HEV, and the portions of the suit covering his blades retracted. "I have a key."

Brenner couldn't help but smile. Somehow the Hork-Bajir's humor calmed her nerves, along with Carbron's soothing voice.

Then the doors began to glow, signs of unimaginable heat originating from the other side of either entrance.

*****

_"When you're face to face with your brother, someone you knew all your life, and now someone who is your mortal enemy, you begin to understand that one day, one of you is going to die. It's not a matter of _if_; it's a matter of _when_. You accept it and move on. That's the nature of the beast."_

--"Professor" Jake Berenson.


	12. Book Two: Awakenings

PART TWO

"Why don't we play some golf?"

"Nick, why do I get the feeling that your version of golf involves automatic weapons fire and throwing cars into guards armed to the teeth?"

"You still yell 'fore!'"

-- Marco, Guest star Hugh Jackman, "The Omega Team"

*****

Marco blinked. A simple motion of the eyelids, but something that he hadn't done for months. Trapped in his thoughts, reflection was something he relished, as his life as a celebrity allowed little room for slowing down. 

It wasn't that he was caught in the fast lane - he knew the speed, and was easily capable of maintaining it, at a small price. Even so, he knew himself, and therefore didn't feel guilty for trying to forget the past and look to the future. Moving on was the first step to healing. 

_And hey, I came close to gettin' in good with Jeanne. I need to learn French._

*****

Jake Berenson blinked. A simple motion of the eyelids, but something that he hadn't done for months. Trapped in his thoughts, reflection was something he despised, as his life as a murderer gave him much room to remember the past.

It wasn't that he felt guilty for getting himself and his friends into the current situation - he knew the risks, and was easily capable of taking them in stride. Even so, he hated himself, hated what he had become, and therefore felt guilty for trying to forget the past and look to the future. The past wasn't through with him, and he had to deal with it.

_It's time to quit whining, quit repenting, and start leading._

*****

Tobias blinked. A simple motion of the eyelids, but something that he hadn't done for months. He flapped wildly around, but was seemingly unable to free himself of the restraining force that kept him put. He looked wildly around. Faces all around. Rachel? No, not Rachel. Not here. 

Tobias returned to the void, where Rachel was still alive and well, and where he could spend the rest of his life with her.

_I love you, Rachel._

*****

Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill had been awake for hours, already. He wanted to shave his chest immediately. He was disgraced - complacentcy equated into sluggishness, and it was through his lethargy that he got careless and got his crew killed. 

Disgrace was the worst possible emotion that he could ever have, and he wanted to just finish it all, now. He'd trade it all in - the fame, the promotions, the position - just to keep those he cared too little about alive. 

It wasn't worth it, anymore.

Just someone kill me and end it.

*****

Santorelli blinked. A simple motion of the eyelids, but something that he hadn't done for months. Realizing that he was restrained, he was pissed. Santorelli didn't like being restrained. He wanted someone's ass on a platter. Maybe that Efflit sonuvabitch could help him entertain those thoughts. 

His eyesight was blurry. He hadn't looked through them in a while, and nothing looked remotely familiar. He figured that he could just keep them open, and sooner or later they'll return to focus.

In the meantime, he resumed mentally stripping an M-16 with a Shredder attached.

_Ooh, someone's going to get an asskicking._

*****

Jeanne blinked. A simple motion of the eyelids, but something that she hadn't done for months. Realizing that she was restrained, she decided to not fight. It was pointless, anyway. 

Her eyesight was blurry, but it didn't really matter. She had a feeling that she didn't want to see whatever it was that was in front of her, anyway. 

_Au moins ce Marco ne me tracassera plus. Quoiqu'il ait été mignon..._

*****

"Oh, the joys of technology."

Frost was about ready to hit Drake. So were Kerell and Tank and Daniel, the "civvie" they knocked out six weeks ago. But they also wanted to hit each other, and therefore, decided to hit no one, as it would start a riot. And Derek's arm had just barely healed. 

"Fox..."

"What?"

You're drunk, aren't you? Kerell asked the question for Derek.

Fox thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah... Pretty much."

Daniel got up from the table they found out in the vacuum of space among the rest of the wreckage that used to be the _Michael_, and placed his dish in the sink that he hooked up. Water purification systems were so advanced that the dirtied water became cleaner than the most clean water on Earth pre-Invasion. Tack on the buckets and buckets of it just floating in perfect spheres, and they had water to spare.

For two weeks straight, they collected scrap metal, equipment, weapons, parts of ships, actual ships, and built themselves a better ship. The work was slow, but when one was stuck in one single ship, which had only about five hundred square feet to walk around, there was little else one can do but work to expand.

And so they worked, creating the additions through the use of HEV suits out in the void, until completion, which would then be added onto the HTC. Seals and double-seals were made, and after two weeks of collecting, and four weeks of actual construction, the HTC was a dangerous vehicle. The _Michael_ could not have been made better. 

Thoughts of their once flagship prompted them to finish dinner and get back to work.


	13. The Clock Begins Again

It was the tenth time they tried to break through the barrier that Carbron and Tormak had so expertly created. Cassie had sat back and let them do their work for the past few weeks. She wasn't all that great at construction, anyway. _Though they seem to think that's a trait all humans carry,_ she thought amusedly to herself.

It didn't matter – not once had the creatures managed to get through the barricade and into their makeshift camp. However, supplies were running short – the Matter Replication Unit (or MRU) was running out of fuel, and soon their food supply would dwindle down to nothing. Cassie was only lucky that the HEV was capable of making use of her waste – _otherwise, things would not be smelling so nice,_ she thought to herself.

As is the standard for every other day she had survived in this hellhole, her thoughts turned to Jake, who was somewhere in this ship. She knew it. She could _feel _it. _I'm sorry, Ronnie…_

Thoughts of her near-fiancee were quickly shoved from her mind. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. It would only take away from the task at hand. _And what task would that be, Cassie?_

"Shut up," she muttered to herself.

Carbron swerved his stalk eyes around to her. Is something wrong, Cassie?

Cassie, broken from her reverie, looked up to the Andalite. She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

_Right._

*****

Brian awoke with a flutter of his eyes. He was in the cube, still. _How long had I been out?_ He wondered. He decided that he didn't want to know the answer to that particular question. Rather, he looked about, trying to find his comrade. McCain was nowhere to be found.

"Chris?" He called out. "Chris!"

Silence. Even now, there was not even an echo.

West brought up his communications system and started calling up the remainder of the Seraphims. Comms were down. Nothing worked. 

"Dammit…" he growled. 

"Why do you trouble yourself, so?" the eerily quiet voice asked. It seemed as if the words pierced through his mind. 

West spun around and looked toward the speaker. It was certainly humanoid, that much was clear. Seemingly male, about six feet, maybe a little taller. His skin was almost pure white, with a slight tinge of navy blue. He wore a black leather trenchcoat that was tightly fastened by belts and buckles across his body. In his left hand was a syringe. His right, a large knife. As he moved, whirring and clicking could be heard within his body. It was an odd sight, to be sure.

Brian looked at him cautiously. "I'm looking for my team."

The creature/man shrugged, advancing slowly on him. "I have not seen them. But we'll search for them, yes?"

West frowned. He gripped the M-25 that was in his hands, taking a step back from the figure. "Perhaps. But who are you?"

The creature moved even moreso forward. "I am here to help you. You can't search this ship all on your own."

"You evaded the question." The Commander brought his M-25 to bear on him. "Now, talk."

With a simple wave of his gloved hand, a beam of space rippled from the creature to the weapon, which flew out of West's hands and was sent skittering across the floor of the cube, smacking against the wall before stopping. "We have a use for you, yes. You _will_ do what is required, whether you want to, or not…"

 The humanoid charged forward, knife raised to strike. Brian rolled left to evade him, getting to his feet and delivering a kick to the stomach. He didn't even budge, but turned and slashed with the knife, cutting into one of the armorless joints, nicking his arm. West hissed with slight pain, but moved back away from him. He tried to draw one of his Glocks, but it seemed as if an invisible barrier kept him from doing so. 

_Focus, Brian…!_ He sidestepped a second thrust, striking his attacker with a backhanded punch that did nearly nothing. In return, the air shimmered again, this time blasting him in the chest, which sent him flying across the cube and landing on the other side of the room, striking the wall before doing so. 

West got to his feet, shaking off his pain. He looked at the cretin, who seemed as if levitating off the ground, moving quicker than he had thought possible. He reached his right arm out to get ready for another evasion, and heard a pair of explosions. _Oh, man. He's starting to blow things up._

The trenchcoated monstrosity turned around instinctively to the sound, and at the same moment, the ripple effect began from Brian's extended hand, moving speedily towards his opponent, striking him in the back. He arched back, screaming loudly and sputtering out fragmented words in a language that West had no way of understanding. The thing quivered on the floor, as if shocked by an unknown source, until finally lying still.

Across the room, from a entrance that Brian was planning to exit to, a man stood, smoking .45 revolver in hand. He looked only slightly older than West, a pair of wire-frame glasses over his blue eyes. Wearing a labcoat, he walked with a slight limp, but tended to move quickly.

He did this while approaching Brian. The man spoke in fits, taking an excited breath every so often. "So it, is true. You are, the one, they speak of."

Brian looked inquiringly toward the man. "And you are?"

The man adjusted his glasses as he limped over to shake West's hand. "My name, is Dr., Joseph Petrofski. I am, or was, a prisoner, in this place. And your name?"

_John Murdoch, _Brian thought sarcastically to himself. "Commander Brian West. I'm here to evacuate everyone out of here."

The "doctor" smiled knowingly but desparingly, something which sent a chill down West's spine. "Wonderful. But come. We must, not wait, for them to, arrive here. They will, come back, soon."


	14. Discovery

Jake Berenson could feel the cords holding him down. He remembered at one time morphing to something big (he couldn't remember what; his list of morphs had grown exponentially since the end of the Invasion), but the tangled web of metal and wire just expanded to hold him in, unbreaking. _Definitely not Yeerk technology.__ Something's up._

His eyes finally responded to his mental command – and they were able to see. There was not much to look at, – a mess of red and green and yellow wire, with metal straps about his body to keep him immobilized – but he felt better knowing he had his eyes available to him. _Morph.__ At least you can communicate with the others, if they're alive._

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on two main colors – orange and black.

*****

Marco had been mumbling to himself for a good part of an hour, and he still didn't feel any better. "I should've taken the Florida job. I _knew I should've gone to Miami and had myself a martini, shaken not stirred. Now I'm stuck in the Final Frontier and I have to go to the bathroom."_

You done complaining?

"And now I'm getting thought-speak. Do you _know how much damage you're doing to my psyche, Sir Jake?"_

Obviously not enough.

Marco shook his head. "What're you up to, fearless leader?"

Wetting myself.

"Funny. Care to get me out of the human harvest a la Matrix?" Marco struggled with the cords, but it was a useless gesture.

He could almost hear the sigh in Jake's voice. Morphs aren't doing us any good. I'm still stuck in here – tiger morph just gave me some hearing and a whole lotta thought-speak. How's everyone holding up?

Jeanne and Santorelli managed to make a reply, but Marco's human ears were unable to make heads or tails of what they said.

Another voice, this one thought-speak, managed to be audible. Dreaming about mice. Lemme alone.

Marco rolled his eyes. "Nice to see featherhead's still in the land of the living, if not in the real world."

You've been singing Lisa Loeb songs for the past two hours, Marco – I think I can be forgiven just a little bit of insanity.

Okay, you two, Jake interjected. Something woke us all up. It's not coincidence that it happened to all of us at the same time, so something's going on. I'm going to try to figure out if there's a way to get us out. Big morphs don't work, small morphs are even worse. No way to navigate.

I know. I tried fly morph, and I was going for an hour and then demorphed. I hadn't moved more than two feet.

**Enough with your prattle.**

"Oookay," Marco muttered. "Now I need a pair of extra shorts."

**The time is coming, children. Do not fear – the One will show you very, very soon.**

*****

Brian pushed Petrofski down to the floor of the Communications Center and raised up his M-25, driving a trio of explosive rounds into the midsection of one of the four humanoid hybrids at the satellite control system, a cylindrical terminal in the center of the room. The snarling creature flew ten feet and slammed against the metallic door between two other terminals, and slid to the floor, much of its middle missing or charred. 

The other three charged after Brian, their katana-sized claws extending from their fingers, like a horrible attempt to splice Freddy Kruger with Edward Scissorhands. Dropping his ammoless combat rifle, he brought up a command on his HUD and his two Glocks extended out from the body of his HEV suit. Drawing them out and commanding the holsters closed, he unloaded upon the hunting mutations. Silenced bullets drilled through the hybrids, catching them in the throat and head, all of the rounds expended hitting their mark. Each making a hissing/snarling/squealing sound, they disgracefully drop their bodies to the floor. 

**Impressive.**

"Shut up," Brian muttered to the One. "You've been bothering me all day, and killing your children is getting tiresome."

**You should be thankful that I have not allowed my stronger children to finish you off.**

"If you had stronger children, you would have sent them already," he sighed, helping Joseph to his feet. "How much farther?" he whispered to the doctor.

"That, next door, should be the, C-three core," Petrofski replied, pointing to the door where the flying hybrid left a dent in it.

West nodded. "Let's go."

Walking past the creature (after Brian put another couple rounds into its forehead), Joseph entered the code on the keypad beside the marred entrance. He received a harsh tone in reply. The doctor looked back to Brian. "It should, have worked. I don't know, what is, wrong with it."  
  


Brian made a command and took a small charge out of the extending pocket. "Let me handle this one." Taking the charge, he placed it in the center of the door, keying in a couple of options. "Close your eyes, doctor."

As Petrofski did what he was told, West hit the detonation button, standing right in front of it. The charge exploded, but a green field contained the explosion heading toward Brian and the good doctor, while the rest of its force hit the door full on. Already damaged, it did not take much to send the thing sliding across the adjacent room. 

The Seraphim Commander tossed in a flashbang and closed sight of it from his HUD. Once the explosion was complete, he re-opened vision and rolled in with his Glocks, aimed at any hostile activity.

Instead, what he found was much different.

The room was not that large horizontally, – it probably was forty meters in diameter – but it raised high up for about sixty meters. In the center, a terminal much like the satellite control system stood, attached to both the floor and the ceiling. There were four stations at the terminal, apparently pointing for each direction. At each monitor, lines of code were speeding by continuously, but there was no one at the keyboards or thought-speak stations to input the coding. 

Even so, that wasn't what amazed him.

Along the walls, wires and cords covered the walls, making probably a four-foot extension to the wall, from floor to ceiling. Every so often, there was a large mound inside the wires. 

_What the hell...? Brian brought up laser control. He activated control of the wrist beam on his right arm, and stepped up to the nearest mound. The wires were cut easily by his beams, but there were so many of them, and working through it was slow. He had to be careful not to stab through the mound, for fear of cutting anyone or anything inside. _

Whirr. Click. Click. Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. Click.

Brian looked about the room. But he could see nothing. He brought up his scanners, but they were still somewhat damaged. They weren't operational, yet. "Doc? The hell is that noise?"

Petrofski shook his head, looking around. "I have, not a, clue. Something, tells me that, the One, has been, busy at, Defense, Engineering."

"Lovely," Commander West muttered as he cut through the final edges of the cords. He broke through the armor, and started pulling it apart at the seam he had made. The first thing he could see inside was a big tooth. Then there was the muzzle. He could've sworn that a tiger was smiling at him.

About time, Brian. I was wondering when you were going to follow in my footsteps.

The Commander smiled brightly. "You think I wanted to?"

Already, the face of Jake was appearing from within the demorphing animal. His- "grrry has a funny way of rrrepeating itself. We have some others inside the rest of these mounds."

Brian nodded. "Gotcha, Professor. Time to clean house."

*****

The Assault Transport Carrier (the modified HTC) _Gabriel's central computer flickered for a moment. Frost tapped the screen, but it didn't flicker anymore. He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. It must have been a glitch or something, he surmised. _

No one noticed that the communication parameters for the SOS messages, or the message body itself, had changed.


	15. Enlightenment

The intercom at the central computer clicked on. **Thank you. That was quite amusing.**

West froze in his tracks, as did the other five. Santorelli brought up the MP-15 Brian had given him, while Jake and Marco were in their best battle morphs – tiger and gorilla, respectively. Tobias was morphed to Andalite, looking all too much like his uncle, Aximili. Jeanne had the Glocks pointed at anything that moved, while Brian was left with the devastating M-25. Forming a triangular pattern with the three weapon-toting members, while the three morphed (with Petrofski riding Tobias) remained behind them, they slowly moved out of the massive jungle of electronics that seemed to breathe on its own.

Well, that doesn't sound good, Marco grumbled. 

Hey, don't get so negative, Tobias replied. He twitched his tail, testing out the strength and the speed of it.

Easy for you to say – optimism is the only crap you have to deal with in there.

"Shut up," Brian commanded. He got down to one armored knee and pointed the M-25 at the only entrance and exit out of there.

A light rumbling came from behind the portal.

Whirr. Click. Whirr. Click. Click. Whirr.

"It is, some of, The One's, stronger, children," Joseph whispered. 

Click. **Dr. Petrofski is correct. But it is only the beginning.**

Brian nodded. "Okay. Santorelli, it's you and me. Jeanne, your Glocks are low – no need to waste the ammo, so stay here with these guys." 

The Seraphim Commander, with Santorelli right beside him, walked up to the portal and hit the keypad to open the wall-like door. It slid open with nary a sound, revealing the communications center. West swung his M-25 around into the room already battle-scarred, and saw nothing. Santorelli nodded his confirmation, checking the ceiling and the walls as well. "Clear."

West looked back inside the central computer. He nodded to them. They replied by forming back up on him beside the satellite control system. 

Which exploded upon their arrival.

West took the brunt of the blow, flying into the terminals and shattering their monitors in a shower of glass and sparks. Santorelli and Jeanne were pushed to the floor by the shockwave, while the remainder of the group were relatively fine, albeit somewhat dazed. Brian looked up to see the culprit. 

Upon first inspection, Brian knew that the creature was a hunter. A fusion of human, Hork-bajir and machine, it barely was able to walk through the door, after ducking its head down half a meter. Jagged, metal razors extended in select places on its body, while a pair of what looked to be Dracon Beams were installed on the top of either wrist. Its face was human, but obviously not – the hair, nose and mouth were gone, but the eyes were there, and small holes for the ear were likewise present. The skin was that of charcoal, and hardened into a near-impenetrable armor. 

Its joint movements made whirring and clicking sounds, reminding the Commander of the SkyNet TV show that he used to watch a month before going on this ill-fated mission. Getting upright, although still sitting on the keypad portion of the station, he brought up his rifle and pumped a pair of NATO rounds into the hybrid. The two rounds detonated against it, rocking it off-balance and taking a piece of its skin-armor off of its body, which clattered and crumbled to the metallic floor. Brian blinked twice and brought the jump jets online. He sidestepped and jumped, flipping sideways in the air and triggering a three-round burst into the living machine, pulverizing more armor from its chest before landing on his feet, beside an already-fallen hybrid which was still pumping out blood.

Santorelli unloaded six rounds from his MP-15, four of which impacted against its head. It gave away with a metallic screech, and fell on its back. It got to a kneel and raised its arms, bringing its Dracon Beams online. Bright crimson streaks of light narrowly missed Brian, but managed to clip Jake in the shoulder as he charged. The tiger growled, but continued with its assault, leaping into the air and clamping down on the hunter's neck. The hunter grabbed either of Jake's flanks and shoved with strength that none of even Brian's morphs could possess. The tiger was pushed off, but not without taking a piece of its neck with him. 

Seeing the opportunity, Tobias stepped forward and announced his arrival with a lightning-fast strike from his tail, cutting through the rest of the way of its neck and decapitating the creature. With its central computer missing, the cyborg-esque creature fell like a sack of bricks, with about the same capabilities. 

Brian slid off the terminal station, with his rifle pointed at the dead beast. _Mother of God…_

Jake shook his large head to clear it. Come on; let's get out of here.

West blinked, waking himself back up. "Right. Let's move."

Guys, I think we're missing a key piece of evidence, here, Tobias piped up.

Marco looked up at the Andalite. Did you get the Andalite's instinctive condescending attitude, as well?

Ax's nephew's tail twitched in response. Have you noticed the intercoms clicking on every time The One speaks with us? How it uses the speakers to amplify its voice—

**Silence.**

Jake looked up to the speaker. I think I see what you're getting at.

Marco glanced between Tobias and Jake. Aside from the fact that we're all quite insane, what _are we getting at?_

If The One was such a powerful entity, rather than a material being, he'd have the powers of the Ellimist or Crayak. At the least, communicative abilities to speak with his children or others like that. When he came up on our viewscreen aboard the _Rachel…_

Jeanne nodded her accent thick in her speech. "We had assumed that what we were seeing was The One's true form."

Exactly.

**Beware, children. You had the chance to be apart of something more than what you were, and now you have spat in it. The time has come to pay the debt you owe.**

Marco scratched his massive gorilla head. So The One was not showing us what he really looked like…

Santorelli got to his feet with Jeanne's help. "But what he wanted us to believe what he looked like."

"So," West narrowed his eyes. "You're saying that The One isn't real?"

Oh, The One's real all right, Tobias replied. And that's just the problem. He's _too real._

Petrofski nodded, getting back on the back of Tobias. "You are, all quite, correct in your, assumptions. The One, is real. However, The One, is not, a formless, being."

Yet he is capable of tracking us in every section of the ship, Marco pointed out. He knows where we are, when we're there, and there's no way he could've known that in the shape that the ship was in after we rammed it. No way he could've tracked us _that well._

Joseph shook his head. "You, misunderstand, me, young man. The ship, and, The One, are one, and the, same.

"The One, is an AI, program."


End file.
